


We All Get Scared Sometimes

by susiephalange



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Female!Reader - Freeform, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Horror Movie Titles, No Mentions of Any Horror Related Things Other Than Titles, gender neutral!reader, horror movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:56:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: Reader has a love for horror flicks. Always has. Apart from being the daredevil on board, they've caught the eye of the CMO Leonard McCoy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I can't stomach frightening movies, to be honest...even if I do watch _Supernatural_ and things like that. I watched _Shaun of The Dead_ the other day, and tbh, that was pretty gross for me. Anyways. On with the fic!

Your life as a pilot was a simple one: you loved danger. Granted, the USS Enterprise was no solo mission; you were the second in charge after Mr. Sulu on the command deck, and were encouraged greatly by your superior officers to not fly the ship in loop-the-loops (Captain Kirk would very much like to do that one day, but with Spock on his back, the two of you weren't to do that any time soon).

As someone who loved danger, there was something that made you feel it, even when it wasn't present. Earth's unlimited supply of horror movies.

It was like they made every flick, the gory, the psychoanalytic, the creepy - just for you. When your shift was over, when you had time off, spare time, you'd sit back in your quarters and pop one on. Whatever it be, you'd be happy, satisfied with your appreciation for cinema, and the need to feel a chill through your blood, just like your job. An old friend called you sick. So what. That was just you.

"Don't you ever get bored with your movies?" Mr. Sulu chuckled, handing the consul to you upon the end of his shift. "I mean, I know I'd get tired if I watched endless movies about plants and - no, I'm wrong. I wish they made a movie just about plants now."

You smiled to yourself. "See? It's just my thing, Sulu. Give your plants a hello from me."

Your coworker grinned. "Will do, you nut. Enjoy!"

By the time the shift ends, and you crash in your bed, it's well into the night. But, seeing as you're deep in space, and there is no day official and night as far as the ship is concerned, you wake when you are rested. But when that is, there is no alarm reminding you that your shift begins; you have two hours until the next time you're up on the bridge around the dream team.

The perfect timeframe for another movie.

On the television, you select a title you hadn't seen before, and become immersed into the gory story of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. As the story goes on, you keep an eye on the screen, not phased at all with what's going on screen as you prepare and dress for the next shift. 

 

 

 

"...and then there was this guy, and he hit him with a wrench, and -,"

"Why is your pilot talking about scary movies more than their own job?" Spock spoke over you, looking pointedly to Captain Kirk as he sat in the chair. "Captain?"

Kirk shrugged. "They're doing their job just fine, Spock, don't be such a sourpuss. ________ is just a fan of scary movies, and Chekov wasn't sure if he wanted to see it. Not a big deal." He soothed his First Mate.

Chekov was white in the face as he whispered, "I do not think I will watch that movie."

Another figure appeared on the Bridge, chuckling. "Yeah, Spock. I don't know what you're disagreeing on this time, but I'm against you." You recognised the man speaking to be the CMO on the ship, Dr. Leonard McCoy. Once or twice you had frequented the Medbay for regular jabs and checkups. "Hey, Jim, I need a signature on a few papers we're sending to the head base on Earth..."

You zoned out, focusing on Dr. McCoy. He had a dreamy appearance; his combed hair, stoic face posed differently; he was more handsome than Mr. Spock's emotionless, matter-of-fact appearance. He held himself in a causal way, too; like he was just a guy, not a robot on board a space ship; he stood what way he wanted. In other words: he was a total babe.

"...just remember, sweetheart, too many of those movies can make someone really scared," he warned you with a wink, and walked on out of the Bridge like he goddamned owned the place. 

Kirk chuckled. "Looks like someone has a crush on my pilot," he mused.

You laughed it off.

 

 

 

Three days later had you on time off, and with all the daily jobs for that day done, you were kicking back, relaxing with another of your favourite types of movies. _Silence of the Lambs_ , _Psycho,_ and _The Shining_ later, you were sitting there on the small lounge, heart racing from the frightening thrillers you'd just watched. Dr. McCoy's words echoed in the rear of your mind, but you shook it off. You were tougher than that. 

" _Nosferatu_? Nope. Maybe later. _28 Days Later_...that sounds more like a story about menstruation than horror..." you mumble, flicking through the selection on screen. " _The Conjuring_? That sounds promising," you press the buttons on the remote for the hologram television projected on the wall to begin the movie. You snuggle into the cushions of the chair, and prepared yourself for what was coming.

-

You shook in between the sheets of your bed. There was nothing you could do to stop it; with every noise the ship made around you brought bumps to your arms, raising your hairs to goose-pimples and bringing an edge to your breath. There was nothing that made your heart rest. It just made it worse, even holding your arms around your chest, holding yourself tight in the bed, keeping yourself company. 

But it wasn't enough. 

At once, you tossed the sheets off, donned a robe, slipped on shoes and rushed from your room. Security footage would show you running through the corridors of the sleeping areas, rushing around like a mad person possessed. It was like everything you'd watched in your life, all the frightening movies you'd seen was catching up to you finally, freaking you out all at once. Why on earth had it happened? All it had taken was one remark from Dr. McCoy - 

McCoy.

For reasons unknown, you knew where Dr. Leonard McCoy resided for his after-hours access and/or his living quarters were. Well, that was not entirely true. You had been over by someone's quarters - maybe it had been Mr. Scott's, the engineer's - when you had seen him exit. The memory of _which_ door he had come out from was blurry, and a not-quite-there memory wasn't good to work with for you, the one who was rushing for company. 

But it was good enough. 

Within minutes, you're at the door you think is his, tapping the buzzer. Yes, it's quite early in the morning. Yes, you look like a wreck that had survived somehow within the depths of space and danger and all that was in the universe that had it in for you. Yes, it was quite the impractical way to make an impression on someone. 

The door opened. 

"________?" Dr. McCoy wiped his eyes upon seeing you. He wears the standard issue of pyjamas. "What - what's wrong?"

You shudder, but even without words, he knows what's going on, and leads you into his room. It's dimly lit, tidy. Nothing seems to be out of place; not even the sheets, rumpled from where he rolled out of bed to bring you in. There are bookshelves, brimming with books with medical names, his television hologram is turned off, and has a rug on the floor, the colour of the blue for the sciences on board the ship.

"You...you were right about the movies." you whisper, slowly descending to sit beside the sofa, upon the rug. "I can't - I couldn't sleep, and all my friends would have turned me away if I came to them, and I barely know you, Dr. McCoy -,"

"Leonard," he interrupts, stooping down to see eye to eye.

"Leonard, I'm terrified. Everything is too real now. I know I'm a bit of a daredevil, and love my job and to watch things others find gruesome, and people would say I deserve to shiver and be scared about what I've seen...but..." you can't keep speaking. The words are lost as you feel tears forming.

He places a hand on yours. "Don't you worry there sugar," his southern accent twangs, pulling you close to his chest. "Listen to my heart beat there, count along with it. It's all going to be alright, don't you worry. There ain't no crazy clowns or psychos on this space shit, don't fret sweetheart." He hums.

"Thank - thank you," you whisper, and relax into his form, feeling your blood warm, mind still. "You're too kind, Leonard - you hardly know me, and you're -,"

"Shhh," he whispers, "I'm a doctor, dammit, we get scared too - we all get scared sometimes. I'm here for you." 

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested by an anonymous person from Tumblr. Hello Anon, if you're reading this: I hope you liked it!
> 
> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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